Finders Keepers
by LittleSixx
Summary: Dean Thomas is stood up by his date, but everything seems to work out.


Rowan was ten minutes late. Dean Thomas walked over to the maître d' and said, "I'll just wait here for a bit." He gave Dean a look of disapproval but nodded so Dean made his way to stand in the corner. He had worn his second-best sportcoat and even styled his curls for the occasion. Rowan was high-up in the Wizengamot and had no reason to go out with someone like Dean, but he had said yes! And he was so bloody hot. Dean jumped slightly each time the door opened and his heart fell each time it wasn't the man he was expecting.

Rowan was twenty minutes late. The maître d' gave him that look. The look that said, "I am so sorry you got stood up." There was nothing Dean hated more than pity. He thought about leaving but the hostess beckoned her over and said, "We can seat you now." Dean nodded uncomfortably as a waitress showed him to a table for two. Two wine glasses, two plates, two forks, spoons, and knives. Two napkins and salad plates. With, of course, two chairs. Dean sat down and said, "Bring me a Firewhisky, please."

Rowan was thirty minutes late. People at nearby tables began to glance over. Dean kicked back the remnants of his second glass. The heat in his throat was not nearly as uncomfortable as the looks he was getting from nearby customers. He blew gently on the candle in the centre of the table and watched the flame swing back and forth. Dean felt the glances, could almost hear them all saying, "I am so fucking happy that's not me."

Rowan was forty minutes late. Dean didn't think he was coming. After all, he was out of his league with Rowan Khanra. How the hell could he have believed this was possible? Bet Rowan was having a good laugh back at his flat about the tall Quidditch supplier languishing alone at a table for two. People had begun to stare more openly. They leaned over and whispered to their tablemates, glancing at him, some even pointing. Dean smiled facetiously and looked back to the front door once again.

Rowan was forty-five minutes late. Dean most definitely needed more whisky. The waiter gave him that look when he asked. The waiter even came back to ask if he'd like to go ahead and order. He replied, "No, thanks, just, um, waiting …" And he did wait. Continued to wait because the only thing worse than being stood up was getting upset about being stood up.

Rowan was fifty minutes late. Half an hour he'd been at the table and the waiter had been back twice to refill his water glass. Dean knew that any more Firewhisky would lead to very poor decisions. And, while he hated it, part of Dean still hoped Rowan would show up, Wizengamot gown billowing behind him, apologizing for being late. But it had been a long time since Dean had been anyone else's first priority, so why had he thought this would be any different? Dean leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, preparing to leave. He opened his eyes to see someone standing next to his chair. Dean's eyebrows knitted together as he stood up because why the hell would a man this beautiful be at his table? Was he there to tell Dean off for taking up a space?

Rowan was fifty-two minutes late. "Hey, love! Sorry, I got stuck in a lift!" The newcomer shouted a little too loudly as he wrapped his arms around Dean's waist, pulling him into a very close hug. His breath was warm on Dean's ear as he whispered, "Is this okay?" Dean nodded and Mystery Stranger pulled back. Dean amended that to Mystery Adonis because this stranger was the most beautiful man Dean had ever seen. He smiled before taking the vacant seat. "Whoever stood you up is a real prick." Dean laughed, because Hot Mystery Stranger was probably the best thing to happen to him all year. If it took Rowan standing him up to get it, well ... A small price to pay.

Rowan was an hour late. Mystery Stranger's name was Blaise. When Dean asked why he was in the restaurant, he said, "I was third-wheeling for a couple of friends over there," He nodded to a table further away where Draco Malfoy and Theo Nott were giving him The Nod ®. "Honestly, I would have introduced myself to you even if you had a date because there is something about you that I like. I am not sure what it is, yet, but-Dean Thomas, are you blushing?" Dean ran his tongue over his lips and nodded.

Rowan was an hour and fifteen minutes late. Blaise Zabini was quiet and absolutely fucking hilarious. He was making eyes at Dean like he wanted to lunge across the table and snog him until their clothes disappeared. Dean shifted in his chair at the thought because he wouldn't mind; audience be damned. Blaise was a chef, actually. Then Blaise revealed he owned this restaurant. "Suppose I won't be fighting you for the check, then," Dean said.

Rowan was ninety minutes late when he showed up at the front door. Dean looked up and his blood ran cold. What the hell? What the bloody fucking hell?! Dean looked from Rowan's apologetic face to Blaise and back again. Blaise turned to look and asked, "Is that your date?" Dean nodded and Blaise stood up from his chair. Just when Dean thought he was about to go over and give Rowan a menu or something, Blaise walked around to Dean's side of the table. He placed a hand on either of Dean's cheeks.

Rowan was ninety-one minutes late . Dean swallowed hard and asked, "What are you doing?" Blaise replied, "Finders keepers," and gave Dean the slowest, gentlest kiss of his life. Blaise pulled back and Dean opened his eyes as Blaise came back down for one more quick snog. Dean's heart beat faster than a Snitch's wings and when he looked over at the door, Rowan was gone.

Rowan was ninety-two minutes late and Dean didn't mind at all.


End file.
